Of Bots and Cons
by Flawed Bandit
Summary: Series of one-shots inspired by prompts by MyMidnightLove on DeviantArt. Each chapter will have the warnings at the top.
1. I'm Always the Last to Know

**I'm Always the Last to Know…**

 _A Transformers G1 Fanfic_

 _By Taylor Schell_

 _Rating: PG (physical injuries, destruction of city - mild)_

 _Character(s): Bluestreak, Prowl, Ironhide, Ratchet_

Bluestreak looked on at the massacred city in horror. The fact that Prowl was keeping his EMF in tight and wasn't letting anything slip through their sibling-bond wasn't helping any—that was clear to either of the other two mechs acting as company of sorts. Prowl supported his damaged twin with one shoulder—but even with one leg mangled to the point of replacement and an arm ripped from his frame, Blue refused to budge.

The injured Praxian's lip trembled, his optics a sick shade of pale blue. He opened his mouth, but only static came out. Hide grimaced sympathetically when he tried again. Still nothing. Blue gave up on trying to speak and instead just leaned against Prowl—the old veteran had never seen the tactician's doors droop so low before as he just held his brother when Bluestreak started to sob.

The red vet's dark blue optics looked to the medic—he was still setting up equipment for a field patch on Bluestreak. Then, he looked out over the city. Ironhide remembered finding Bumblebee in a very similar setting. The little scout had turned into a fine mech despite it. Hopefully, Blue would too. But frag it all… As soon as the injured mech was out of there, the other three had to keep searching. There had to be more survivors. There had to be. If there weren't…Bluestreak, Prowl, and Smokescreen would be the last Praxians… That wasn't right. No. The stubborn vet refused to believe it. They'd find others. He swore they would.

Ironhide turned back to Ratchet when he heard the crotchety medic's voice ordering Bluestreak to lay on his back. After some nudging from Prowl, Bluestreak complied and Hide went over to make sure the damaged mech stayed still during the patch-up.

Blue's expression made the old vet pause, however. He was smiling, but it was twisted and bitter; so forced that the weapon specialist was somewhat surprised that Prowl didn't reach for his brother. But that's just how Prowl was. He shouldn't had been shocked.

Ratchet got to work without even glancing at Blue's face.

So when the injured mech finally spoke up after another burst of static, even the hardened veteran had jumped.

"I could've gotten someone outta there. If someone had told us—…"

"We hadn' known 'til th' city was ah'lready bein' 'tacked, kid," Hide interrupted immediately. Prowl stepped aside so that the old mech could kneel and rest a large hand on the young mech's shoulder. "No one knew'a this."

"G-guess I'm always the last to know…"

Those seven words had enough weight behind them to force even the brute that was Ironhide back to his pedes. It sounded like Bluestreak was trying to guilt-tripe or blame someone.

But who could blame _him_?

Praxus had just been destroyed, after all.


	2. Music

**Music**  
 _A Transformers FOC/Prime Fanfic_  
 _By Taylor Schell_  
 _Rating: PG_  
 _Character(s): Jazz, Raf_

* * *

The beat played softly from Jazz's speakers. For once, his pede didn't tap; his frame didn't spin and twirl.

Instead, he was still. His doors were lowered into a relaxed position, his arms crossed over his chest. He stood alone, talking and laughing to no one but the wind. It was...hard to believe.

In front of him was just a pile of rocks. Besides a piece of horn-shaped metal in front of it, it was nothing special. But Jazz talked to the pile like it was some...lifelong friend.

"Ya remembah when I had ya go first? Ya know, I didn' act scared, but ya sure knew I was, mech." Jazz laughed. It was a sound that came from a rough vocoder but sounded true and kind. "Ya made fun'a me for cycles aftah."

The mech blinked when his vision blurred. He shook his head, glanced around...and removed the visor. He wiped at his optics with his free servo, coolant running from the corners of those ice-blue orbs. "Real shame ya went th' way ya did, my mech. Ya deserved bettah, an' a much longah life." He blinked, wiped his optics one more time, and then replaced that famous visor.

"...Jazz?"

The voice was young; one of the human children. Raf, he recognized.

"Are...you okay? You've been up here a while. Who are you talking to?"

For the first time in what must've been hours, the mech left his post in front of the pile of stones and single horn. He approached the child and took a knee in front of him. His smile was gentle and inviting. "I'm fine, my mech. Jus'...talkin' t' an old friend."

"Cliffjumper?"

Jazz nodded. He'd been made aware Cliff was offlined before the children knew him, but it sounded like Raf was at least aware of who the bull-headed mech was.

"You've usually got your music louder."

"Heh. Yeah. Cliff wasn' th' fondest'a music. S'long as it was quiet he didn' say much 'bout it, though."

Raf's head tipped a little to the side as he looked up at the Cybertronian. "You knew him well?"

A trembling smile crossed the mech's lips. "Cliffy was one'a my bes' friends."

"Oh...I'm really sorry." The boy kicked his toe in the dirt nervously. "Cee said he was really stubborn. Could...um...well...could you tell me about him? Arcee's still too defensive about it."

Though they weren't visible, the edges of the mech's optics crinkled when he smiled. "There's lots t' tell, but I'd love t' tell ya 'bout ol' Cliffy here."

Both boy and bot went to sit next to the rock-pile, and the Cybertronian began to spin tales of the late Cliffjumper to the young human.

Jazz could have gone on for hours telling of one of the best friends he'd ever had. And Raf let him.


	3. Countdown

**Countdown**  
 _A Transformers AU Fanfic_  
 _By Taylor Schell_  
 _Rating: PG_  
 _Character(s): Jawbreaker, Sputter, Fizz, Mariner_

* * *

"No, no, no, no! Ah, fraggin' dumb-afts! Stop 'at! I'm tryin' t' work!"

The blue and red Minicons started snickering as they leaned over the work table. The red one with the words 'Coca' and 'Cola' on either arm boxed the back of the black mech's helm. The blue one with 'Pepsi' on his chest and arms just kept hitting buttons on the black mech's data-pad. He didn't really know _what_ the buttons did, but it was annoying the slag out of the older Minicon, so Sputter just kept right on tapping the pad.

"Yer soooo _borin'_!" the red vending machine-Fizz-groaned. His Pepsi-decorated twin nodded vigorously in agreement. "It's all work, work, work with ya!"

The black mech with a pane of Plexiglas across his back glowered up at the younger mechs from where he sat. "Aw'right, ya wanna do this?" He pointed accusingly at his data-pad that Sputter was still attacking. Sputter just tipped his helm. Jawbreaker couldn't see the younger mech's optics behind that damn visor, but he knew his brother too well. Undoubtedly, the Pepsi machine had an optic ridge raised and the opposite optic almost completely closed. " _Manifest_ , idiot! Ya wanna keep up with it?"

Sputter threw up his hands and shook his helm. "Nooooo thank you! We gotta keep up with stock, an' tha's 'nough as-is!" He stepped away from the data-pad immediately and the candy machine rolled his optics and snatched it up before any more damage could be done to his list.

"'At's what I thought."

Fizz-who was still behind the black mech-vaulted over the table so that he was next to his twin. The floor rumbled under his pedes when he landed, and the Cola mech grimaged. "Sorry, Merr!" he shouted, then rubbed the back of his neck.

The red mech glanced toward Jawbreaker, and the oldest brother was just sitting there with a blank expression. He clearly wasn't amused. "'Ey, boss," he finally said, turning away from the twins to look at the broken security camera and loudspeaker in the corner of the room, "ya mind gettin' 'em outta 'ere?"

'The boss' didn't hesitate in activating the loudspeaker. Immediately, an authoritative voice broadcast itself throughout the entire ship so that the entire crew could hear the twins' scolding. Fizz and Sputter both immediately got blue in the face at the embarrassment that it caused.

 _*Now, you two understand?*_

"Yessir!"

 _*Good. Leave Jawbreaker to 'is work.*_

"But..."

 _*One...*_

"Mariner, sir!"

 _*Two...*_

The twins looked at each other, and then bolted from the room, tripping over each other the whole way. Jawbreaker just rolled his optics and leaned over his data-pad again. "Finally, s'me peace an' quiet..."

* * *

Jawbreaker, Sputter, Fizz, Mariner (c) Flawed Bandit


	4. Are You Proud of Me?

**Are You Proud of Me?  
** _A Transformers: Prime Fanfic  
_ _By Taylor Schell  
_ _Rating: PG-13  
_ _Characters: Bumblebee, Megatron, Optimus_

* * *

The stories he'd read with Raf always started the same way: "I hadn't realized it had happened until it was too late", or something along those lines. But that wasn't how it happened in real life. The black and gold scout knew what he was doing. He'd felt the cool hilt of the blade in his hands, felt his pedes leave the platform as he jumped. He'd launched himself as far as he could over that ledge with full intentions of getting that blade to Optimus.

He'd met optics with Megatron, seen the tyrant raise his fusion cannon. Things didn't slow down when you realized you were about to die—they didn't speed up either. The pace...it was just like everything else. Not too fast, not too slow. You could take in so many details, yet miss just as many.

Bumblebee had been aware of his digits tightening on the blade's hilt; he'd done it consciously. He didn't want to drop the Star Saber into the Omega Lock. He needed to get it to Optimus.

When Megatron started firing, Bumblebee had braced himself. He'd brought his arms back, readied himself to throw the Saber. Optimus hadn't reacted fast enough; he saw those blasts coming straight or him. The scout couldn't fly, couldn't try to dodge the shots—not while he'd been free-falling.

He still hadn't been prepared for the pain. It flared through his chest the moment the first shot met. Round, young optics had brightened as the pain intensified with the second, then the third. He'd lost the Star Saber somewhere between the first and last blasts.

Bumblebee could feel as his spark starting fading. He'd met optics with Optimus; the scout's had raised in silent, pleading question. He'd tried, he truly had.

Fading optics said what a damaged vocoder couldn't: _'Are you proud of me?'_


	5. Too Far Gone

**Too Far Gone**

 _A Transformers AU Fanfic_

 _By Taylor Schell_

 _Rating: PG_

 _Character(s): Plunge, Wave Blaster, Pilot_

* * *

The bright orange mech shook his helm. He stroked a tender hand across his stasis-locked crew-mate's face, optics dimming. How long had Wave Blaster been like this? He'd lost count of the weeks. Cables were connected to just about every port on Wave's frame—from energon drips, to spark readers and everything between. Plunge closed his optics tightly and gritted his denta.

They'd always prepared each other for when the other would eventually fall offline. They may have been Neutrals, but this...this was a war. They'd both always expected Wave would be the first to go—he was more of the warrior out of the pair, after all. Plunge...well, he was just an engineer. If the boss was attacked, the Norsafe was to stay below deck to work the weapons. Wave Blaster—a cannon—would help defend the crew alongside the Seadogs, Venders, and Chopper.

Emotionally, Plunge hadn't been ready for his Conjunx to be stasis-locked. Pilot didn't have the means to repair the mech enough to bring him out of stasis. It made the lifeboat's spark ache with how empty it felt.

Plunge had kept his end of the bond wide open, just... _waiting_ for Wave to be brought back online. He shook his helm again and covered his optics with a hand. "Primus..." he murmured as he took in a shaky vent. It hurt, and it would continue to hurt until his bondmate finally woke up again. Not knowing when that would be just made it so much worse. Plunge hated when something wasn't predictable. He hated not knowing something.

At least before the attack, the engineer had been able to confide in his mate whenever he'd needed to. Wave Blaster was a powerful mech, but also so easy to talk to.

Plunge jumped when he felt a hand on his back and whipped around. He met optics with the crew's medic.

"'Ey, Lunger...ye doin' a'right?"

A shake of the helm was all the Norsafe could manage. Pilot was always concerned about the well-being of the crew—he'd wanted to be a therapist before the war started up, after all. Plunge was quiet for a long time as he leaned down to put his forehead against his bondmate's. The medic was patient; he'd let Plunge speak when he was ready to.

"Pit?" the lifeboat finally lifted his helm and looked down at his smaller comrade. "Is...is it possible he's jus'...too far gone..?"

"No. It ain't. No." Pilot spoke quickly, maybe too quickly. "We'll be meeting up with some Autobots soon. We'll be able to trade for the supplies I need..."

Plunge cut him off with with a grunt. "I want ya t' tell me the _truth_ , Pit."

"I..." The blue marlin looked away, clicking his glossia like he always would when trying to word himself carefully. "I'm doin' what I can. Unfortunately...West's damages were extensive. I can repair him, yes—but it will take a lot of time. Th' therapy 'e'll need afterward… It's gonna take 'im a lot more'n jus' replaced plates, Lunger. I'm doin' what I can."

"It ain't enough, dammit!" Pilot grimaced, but didn't say anything. Plunge was in grief, it wasn't unusual for a mech to act that way. Pilot would've been acting the same way if one of his gestalt-mates were in Wave Blaster's place. Bonds were powerful, no matter what kind they were. Love could make anyone go crazy if they had the processor capacity to feel such an emotion.

"Lunger." The Minicon gripped as high on the Norsafe's arm as he could reach and squeezed gently. "Rest. Medic's orders. Ye can charge on one'a th' medical berths even t' stay by West—but ye need t' charge.

"Ye ain't thinkin' clearly. I'll give ye somethin' t' help ya if ya need it. But I'm orderin' rest."

Plunge deflated, his shoulders sagging. He didn't give much of a fight, however. "Don't need nothin' t' help charge," he muttered. As much as he resented it, he left his bondmate's side with hesitance and found his way to an empty berth as close to Wave's as he could manage.

"Get yer rest, Lunger..."

* * *

Plunge, Pilot, and Wave Blaster are all my OCs.

To prevent confusion with nicknames/alts:  
Plunge turns into a Norsafe free-fall lifeboat; his nickname's Lunger.  
Pilot turns into a blue marlin. He's usually called Pit.  
Wave turns into a cannon, and the crew tends to call him West.


	6. Nonexistent

**Nonexistent**  
 _A Transformers: Prime Fanfic_  
 _By Taylor Schell_  
 _Rating: PG_  
 _Character(s): Soundwave  
_

* * *

Sounds had been muddled; they had been for a long time. The wind always sounded so off, the bird calls echoed all around him deafeningly. More than once, the once-menacing mech found himself going rigid and attempting to dial down his audios from the sheer noise of the birds alone. His own vents and pedesteps sounded warped; things had never looked so gray. He couldn't communicate with anyone. This...place, it drained him of his energy. Cycles upon cycles, warnings lined his vision, screaming at him to refuel soon or he'd go into emergency stasis.

For the first time in a very, very long time, Soundwave stumbled. He couldn't remain standing any longer. His communications wouldn't work; all he got was static. His Lord had been deactivated. He'd watched as Megatron fell from the sky. He'd tried to follow, but lost his leader into the ocean. Soundwave hadn't been able to take flight again after landing. It was like this...shadowed dimension was sucking the energy from his frame. If he fought too much, it only seemed worse. When he stopped fighting and did nothing, it was like that energy was returned to him; at least some of it.

It was a cruel joke.

Thousands of years he'd fought and fought; sometimes in the middle of a battle, and sometimes behind the scenes, where he could be most deadly. A gladiator reduced to his knees; without the ability to fly, to contact someone, to even walk for too long without his legs trying to give out beneath him. Laserbeak had gone into stasis a while back to divert his energon into Soundwave's frame. He was alone. The Minicon wouldn't survive much longer, and neither would Soundwave.

He'd encountered a few humans, mostly when he'd been on the verge of collapse. They didn't so much as seem to notice the ground shaking under their feet. And as far as Soundwave was concerned? Maybe it wasn't. Maybe whatever happened in this place had no effect on what happened outside.

Soundwave had also spotted Autobots, or human military personnel he recognized from files, from time to time. It hadn't mattered what he did; whether he used his audio-splitting Screech, or tried to wrap his nimble digits around them, they didn't so much as acknowledge that the Decepticon was there. They never spoke his name, or his Lord's; Starscream's or Shockwave's. They'd spoken of the restored Cybertron, and often; of human comrades and their love for Earth.

But in any conversation he'd heard, it was like the Decepticons had never existed.


	7. Last Time

**Last Time**  
 _A Transformers G1 (or IDW?) Fanfic_  
 _By Taylor Schell_  
 _Rating: PG_  
 _Characters: Prowl, Jazz_

* * *

"Hey Prowler-th' twins're causin' problems 'gain."

"Yo, Prowler. Hide just socked Raj. ...Again."

"Prowler, OP's requestin' ya."

"Prowler" "Prowler" "Prowler". The name alone was going to drive him crazy. He could handle the problems to come with the name; those were easy. But Jazz's insistent want to call him by a lengthened version of his given designation, despite clear vehemence against it, was what got to the tactician. Jazz had a thing with nicknames. Prowl had a thing _against_ them. Mirage wasn't that hard to say, yet the saboteur shortened it to Raj. The same went for Ironhide. "OP" for Optimus? That was just disrespectful. He shortened names or changed them-like for Ratchet. Jazz insisted on using "Hatchet".

And then there was Prowl. There wasn't much way to shorten his designation. When they'd first met he'd thought himself safe from the ridiculous nicknames. That is, until Jazz had gotten the brilliant idea to just make Prowl's name longer, and "Prowler" sprung to existence.

Fortunately-or was it _un_ fortunately?-Prowl had patience that could rival Optimus'. He would just nod and send Jazz out of his office without noting the irksome nickname.

But the nicknames were disrespectful and pointless. Prowl didn't see how there could be any appeal to them, for anyone. How Jazz had made it so far through the ranks, to being the head of special operations and even Prime's trusted Third in Command, Prowl didn't know. Sure, Jazz was a good Agent, the tactician would give him that. But with that damn disrespect? Primus. Prowl couldn't stand the mech. He could wrap his head around how _others_ could stand him.

But the entire _Ark_ just loved him. He was friends with mechs as different as Tracks and Wheeljack. About the only other bot on board who couldn't stand him, as far as Prowl could tell, was Ratchet. Then again, Ratchet couldn't stand anyone who couldn't sit still, be quiet, and do their work as told.

"Yo, Prowler." Jazz poked his helm into the tactician's office, interrupting Prowl's thought-process. "Ya plannin' on workin' ovahtime again? Hatchet ain't gonna like tha'." He grinned that same grin he did with everyone.

Prowl had had enough. "Last time," he strained, looking up from the data-pads he'd been reviewing.

The smile disappeared and was replaced with a completely blank expression. "Come again?"

"The _nicknames_ , _Jazz_..." He was trying not to let the agitation creep into his voice, but it was still there. _"Enough."_

The spy's grin came right back. "Tha's wha's buggin' ya, my mech?" He laughed, helm rolling back with his optics. "Ain't nothin' wrong with 'em~"

Prowl took in a slow vent, intake shaking. "That is a direct order from a superior officer."

The immediate stand to attention caught him off guard, as did the reply, "Yes sir." However, Jazz's jaw was locked and visor glowed an angry blue-white color. His reply hadn't exactly sounded like he'd said it by choice.

However, the tactician just brushed it off and shooed the TIC out of his office with a single tip of his chin. The reaction had been highly unexpected. He'd have to look into it during an off-shift.


	8. You Still Awake?

**You Still Awake?**

 _A Transformers AU Fanfic_

 _By Taylor Schell_

 _Rating: PG (angst, fluff)_

 _Character(s): Swabber, Sailor_

Swabber's helm was pressed to the window. Next to him, a fish-like mech recharged in his own seat, separated from the smaller Minicon's only by the armrest between them. Cybertron had long since faded into the distance.

The Seadogs had been sent off separately from the rest of their crew, having had a final assignment before they could rejoin Mariner, and Chopper, and all the others. It had been a long last few orns on their planet, and all six of their little team was taking it hard. Their gestalt worked to comfort each other, their leader and medic moreso than the other three, but it was still hard.

Their leader, Captain, seemed to be taking it the best. However, the rest of his gestalt knew him too well. When he blocked off the bond and locked himself into the pilot's cabin to focus on the space ahead, they knew just how much it was affecting him. The same went for their medic, Pilot. The mech sitting next to Swabber as the smallest of their team just wished to go home. Pilot never seemed to recharge, not until the job was done, or he was too stressed to keep going. He'd nearly collapsed into the seat next to Swabber when he'd finally finished simple, routine checkups on his gestalt.

They were always so open with each other. Now, they were keeping more to themselves. They didn't want to leave their home. They hadn't wanted to be separated from their crew-not even for a very short time such as this.

They'd reach their destination in a few decaorns. A water-bearing planet where the war was in full swing. Terra, known by its populace as Earth. They could make so many sales, and trades, and just do what their function-programming needed them to. They were merchants, explorers. But they'd never been so...alone. So...unfit, for their functions.

Swabber heaved a sigh, his cerulean optics dull as he finally turned away from his window and hopped down from his seat. He was careful not to disturb the exhausted medic next to him, and slipped off to the tiny living-quarters of the shuttle.

A quick look around the room revealed the gestalt's largest member, and Swabber's suite-mate, on the berth off to the side. Sailor didn't so much as twitch at the gestalt-head's entrance, so the tiny mech crept in as quietly as he could. He pulled himself up onto the berth and situated himself near the boat's helm, back to the much bigger mech.

Swabber settled himself, curled up just far enough from Sailor he wouldn't get crushed if the other mech rolled over.

A silence fell over the dark quarters. The smallest vent from either mech sounded so loud, and then...

~You still awake?~ There was a prodding from Sailor through the gestalt-bond. The smaller mech could feel a careful hand against his back.

~...Yeah.~

~You...alright?~

Swabber turned over so he was facing the boat-mech. Dark blue optics locked with pale gold. ~I...I dunno. You?~

~Dealin'.~ The Minicon closed his optics when Sailor's field reached out, gentle and inviting. Swabber _reveled_ in that comfort, curling in on himself when Sailor pulled him close to his chest. ~Missin' home?~ A nod against the boat's chest-plating answered. ~All'a us are.~ The harmonics in those words held so much more than Swabber would have known to explain. All he could answer with was a soft, almost strained,

~I know.~


End file.
